


Captivity

by AuroraRebellion



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: And when i say minor i mean MINOR characters. Tiny. No effect on current main plot., But i mean who is there we know from alba, Gen, I can do what i want and create love interests for minor canon characters, So uh kinda a bg canon/oc thing here too?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraRebellion/pseuds/AuroraRebellion
Summary: Another cry, and Archeole climbs to his feet.“...What are you doing?” Pele asks.“Being a fool,” he replies, “And fighting.”Then he shouts as he begins running.-A novelization/slight reimagining of Pele and Archeole's meeting, as told in Pele's Dragon Story.





	Captivity

**Author's Note:**

> Who cares that the Phraeganoth raid event is over; I will forever be emo over Archeole, Pele, and Alba.

“Ooh, look at those scales! If we clean the soot off, those’ll catch us a fortune!”

The soldiers are hardly even burnt despite the fire the dragon breathed, and seem entirely unshaken by the roar it had released. Archeole wonders how that is.

The soldiers- sometimes he thinks they’d be better described as slave drivers- wander off to find something to amuse themselves with (probably drink, they reek of alcohol most nights), and he approaches the cage they have the dragon in. The metal box seems impossibly small for a creature the color of the mountain’s depths.

The dragon fixes its gaze on him with an eye the color of the brightest sunset he’s ever seen, and even here he’s struck by the majesty of it. Even in an ugly cage, this dragon is beautiful.

...But if even a _dragon_ was so easily captured, if even this being of power and legend was so easily forced into a cage, maybe the hope he clung to was false. Maybe the tales of freedom he dreamt aloud when the slavers (soldiers) couldn't hear, the ones others would add to, maybe those were just impossible fantasy. Maybe it would be better, if there was no hope of freedom, to throw himself overboard and let the ocean swallow him as a slave.

...But maybe not yet. Not yet. He’s never met a dragon before, and he’d like to before he dies, if he can do nothing else.

He creeps close to the cage- as close as he dares, for the dragon’s claws are still sharp through cage bars- and sits down.

“Hello,” he greets quietly. The dragon’s pupil sharpens and it’s unsettling to have its gaze on him so intently, but he receives no other response but silence.

“...Can you understand me?” He asks. The dragon blows smoke through its nostrils.

“Yes, I can,” it replies. The voice that drifts from the dragon’s mouth is soft and clear, and he begins to wonder if dragons can be ‘she’s.

“I didn't know dragons could talk just the same as humans,” he remarks. The eye watching him narrows.

“Why did you try to speak to me, then?” The dragon questions. He stumbles for an answer, and she turns her head away.

“...Do you have nothing better to do?” She asks. He hesitantly shrugs.

“They’re not yelling for me right now, so no.”

The dragon makes a sound like a cat’s purr, lifts her head, and stretches. He marvels at the brilliant reds and oranges as she unfolds her wings in the little cage, and finds new questions in his head.

“What's your name?”

She fixes her gaze on him again, but he doesn't feel very uncomfortable this time.

“What does it matter?” She asks in response. “I shall be killed soon.”

“But you’re not dead now, right?”

She closes her eyes and sighs ashes.

“...Fine. My name is Pele. I assume you’ll tell me your name?”

He smiles.

“I’m Archeole.”

Archeole is an odd human, Pele thinks.

“Quaint. Will you go on your way now?”

Archeole hums and looks over at the railing.

“...Not yet,” he says, and focuses on her again. “What kind of dragon are you?”

She narrows her eyes again.

“What kind of _human_ are _you_?” She counters.

Oh, he has to think about that. He’s a slave, but…

“I’m… A human from the fields? A farm human…? There has to be a better word for that…”

“A human from the fields,” Pele echoes. “Odd to find you on a mountain.”

“I’m not here by choice. I was forced here.”

He looks off at the mountain in the distance, the one that she had called home.

“They want us to mine for ore there,” he tells her. “But they found you, too…”

She watches the gentle openness Archeole speaks to her with fade to something closed and dark as he looks back out at the ocean.

“...You’re a dragon,” he says, “And that mountain’s your home. Did you… did you _really_ fight them, when they captured you?”

Did she fight? This human is unusual and asks strange questions, she thinks.

“No,” she says. He whirls to stare at her in shock.

“No? Why not?”

“I’m tired of the strife that is humans’ fighting.”

“So you gave up?”

She says nothing in response, but watches as he tilts his head down and his expression darkens further.

“I don't like the fighting either, but… without fighting, we’ll never be free.”

He looks up at her, eyes suddenly bright with something she isn't sure how to place.

“Freedom is worth fighting for, you know. And… if I was as strong as you, I’d fight for it- for a nation where no one is a slave, and war can cease.”

“You? End human war?”

Pele makes a rolling, growling sound that he realizes is a laugh, but he neither lightens or shrinks away.

“Peace is possible,” he insists. “But not under the army’s soldiers, or under their king.”

“You’re a fool,” the dragon scoffs. He shrugs.

“I’ve heard that. But you had that power, and… you didn't do anything. Are you really just going to let your life be shaped by someone else’s whims?”

She finds herself- for the first time in a long while- truly stunned at a question. A question from a human, no less.

Before she can find the words, a shriek calls Archeole’s attention, and she looks up as well.

There’s a group huddled around one person, one who’s shrinking away from their grasp but can't get away.

“Oof, it’s a noisy one, isn't it?” One of them laughs. Pele watches the color drain from Archeole’s face as he watches, keeping his eyes on them as opposed to the other humans nearby, the ones who are poorly-dressed, who stare down at the ground and say nothing.

“Let’s see if it’ll stop,” another jeers.

Another cry, and Archeole climbs to his feet.

“...What are you doing?” Pele asks.

“Being a fool,” he replies, “And fighting.” Then he shouts as he begins running.

He barrels into the first soldier, and the two go tumbling onto the deck.

“What-”

Pele rises as best she can in her cramped prison, wings fluttering nervously as someone catches ahold of Archeole and hauls him to his feet again. He twists out of their grip and knocks someone else to the ground, while the slave they had been tormenting scurries away.

He’s a fool. He truly is a fool, fighting for something he doesn't have the power to do anything about.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to die, because one of the humans in armor draws their sword and the next moment Archeole is suddenly bleeding. The stupid farm human is bleeding, red dripping from his hand as he clutches his face, and for how tired she is of human fighting, she doesn't feel as distant from this one.

This bothers her, just like it used to when she was much younger, and she spits sparks.

They have him restrained: he’s pinned to the ground by many pairs of arms, and the one with the sword is getting closer.

“Golly, you hit hard!" One of them laughs. "Not hard enough though. You know what we do to slaves like you… How’s about we finish the job with that eye, yeah?”

No, no she has the power to change this.

She folds her wings close and summons the heat of the mountain’s depths, letting it boil in her chest before she roars and spews flames.

The cage melts like ice on a hot day, and she snaps the thin remains with a flap of her wings.

The humans in armor cower away from her, as do the slaves as she lands on the deck...but Archeole stares at her in quiet reverence. She notes that for later.

“Leave,” she growls to the soldiers. Archeole stumbles to his feet as they back away from her.

“Elfrin, El- Elfrin, get the others,” he calls. “Let’s go.”

One of the other slaves- a sylvan, she notes- dashes off and disappears below the deck of the ship, and she watches curiously.

The soldiers begin to move, and she hisses at them.

They huddle back together again.

 

In the next few minutes, the boat is cleared of all people except for the soldiers, and Archeole calls as he climbs into the last rowboat:

“Pele! Will you come with us?”

Will she?

She looks back, at his face filthy with dried blood, and meets his gaze, noting the concern in the eye that wasn't damaged by the sword.

...She found herself unable to care, and it's beginning to seem he has an overabundance of concern.

“Of course.”

Archeole smiles, and pushes off towards the shore as she flaps her wings and takes to the air. The soldiers shout and throw weapons at her, but she twists through the air and dodges them all with ease.

The slaves still flinch away as she lands on the shore, but Archeole stands confidently before her, and it seems to ease their fears.

“Thank you, Pele,” he tells her, then turns to focus on the humans (and a few that aren't human) grouped around him.

“We need to head up the mountain,” he says. “We can take the boats with us and use them for shelter…”

“I grabbed a few weapons,” one of the humans adds, one with blonde hair and eyes the color of mana. Archeole nods.

“Perfect. Let’s go before they find a way to follow us without their boats.”

There’s some general scuffle as people decide who is doing what, but between Archeole, the sylvan that stays close by Archeole’s side, and the human with blonde hair, order comes quickly.

He’s a natural-born leader, she thinks, as she follows along after them.

“Archeole,” the syvlan beside Archeole begins, “I took some bandages from their supplies. Can we catch up to the others later?”

“...I think they need our guidance, Elfrin,” Archeole responds. “I can wait.”

“Guidance? Where’d you go learning big words?” Elfrins asks. She thinks he might be teasing, and Archeole’s tired expression warms just slightly.

“My parents did teach me to read, you know. I’ve done all the reading I can when I can sneak a book below deck.”

“Yeah, I know. Where we planning to stop, anyways?”

Archeole stays silent as he looks ahead, and narrows what’s probably now his only eye. (The blood still running down his face hints that the sword wound is just about as bad as it looks and as bad as she fears, Pele thinks.)

“The woods,” Archeole says. “We should be safer beneath the trees.”

“They’re going to come back,” the blonde one says.

“I know, Millith.”

“What are we going to do?”

“...Fight, I guess. We can't do much else- I personally would sooner die than be a slave again, and I think most of you feel the same way.”

Milith and Elfrin both nod, Elfrin with far more fervance.

“We’ll fight,” Elfrin says. “I’d rather die free, too.”

Archeole looks to Pele, and she tilts her head as he speaks to her.

“Will you help us, Pele?”

…She’s growing fond of this human.

“For now,” she says.

That seems to be enough for Archeole.

“Thank you, Pele,” he says, and then he turns to focus on different matters.


End file.
